


Never Drink With a Daedra

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryndoril finds himself waking up in the temple of Dibella with his only memory from the night before that of a Breton named Sam Guevenne. He tries to clean up the mess the Breton got him into, but there are more than a few surprises along the way for him! Rated for the last chapter.</p><p>I don't own Skyrim, Bethesda does. I only own Ryn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ondolemar stalked purposefully up to the door to the Temple of Dibella, a determined look on his face. He raised his hand to push the door open, and then once again couldn’t go through with it and backed away quickly before anyone could see him. He groaned in frustration at himself; this was ridiculous!

He’d already done this exact dance four separate times, and that was in the last fifteen minutes. It had taken him three days to convince himself to even come in the first place. Even now, standing there frustrated with himself, he wasn’t sure it was worth it.

The Altmer had decided that though he wasn’t that well-versed in exactly how to please another male, he very much wanted to get it ‘right’ with Ryndoril. He was coming to care quite deeply for the Bosmer, and since Ryndoril seemed to have so much experience, Ondolemar didn’t like feeling behind. He remembered the priestesses at the Temple of Dibella were reputed to be experts at pleasing men, and he finally realized he had no one else he could discuss the subject with. So he gathered his courage and headed for the temple.

Once he’d managed to get there, however, all he could do was shy away at the last second every time he attempted to go inside. He was a Commander for the Thalmor, for Auri-El’s sake. What was he doing being such a coward? 

For that matter, what was he even doing _here_? What reason did he have to doubt his own abilities, whether in battle or in the bedroom? 

But then Ryndoril’s face popped into his mind, and he felt a keen longing to please the Bosmer properly…and so once more started toward the temple door. 

As he placed his hand on the door handle, ready to push it open, raised voices from inside caught his attention. His curiosity overrode his doubts and he finally pushed the door open. The priestesses were gathered around a figure on the ground, all yelling angrily at it; the din was so loud that Ondolemar couldn’t figure out what was going on. He strode toward the group, less focused on his own desires at the moment and wanting to understand the commotion. Being in the temple of Dibella, it was unlikely to have to do with Talos, but his desire to keep order drove him to get involved anyhow.

“Blasphemy – “

“Can’t believe such actions – “

“How dare you?”

“What a ridiculous stunt!”

“Hang on,” a weak voice croaked. “Please – keep it down. What…what’s going on?” Ondolemar did a double-take – it was _Ryndoril_ lying on the floor, at the center of the huddle of priestesses. Ondolemar noticed the temple appeared to be in disarray; what had happened? Surely the Bosmer wasn’t hurt, was he?

“Oh, let me guess,” a sarcastic voice came from the priestess directly in front of Ondolemar, “you can’t remember.” The Altmer had stopped just nearby to listen and find out what had happened. If Ryndoril was in any trouble… Ondolemar laid his hand on his mace reflexively. He’d started carrying it after the incident with the Forsworn, though he didn’t regularly have need of it; but if it came to defending the Bosmer…

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Ryndoril groaned, and Ondolemar saw him sit up, peering blearily up at the priestesses. “Is this…the Temple of Dibella?”

“You’re damn right it is,” one of the other priestesses spoke up harshly.

“What am I doing here?” Ryndoril asked, shaking his head in confusion. Ondolemar could tell the Bosmer was recovering from being very drunk on something strong, and a fierce wave of protectiveness swept over him. He was about to announce his presence and save Ryndoril from the angry gazes of the priestesses, but one of the women spoke up before he could.

“Apparently, fondling the statues, making a mess, and celebrating your _wedding_ ,” the priestess said scathingly. Ondolemar’s heart froze in his chest – wedding? Ryndoril was _married_?

“Wedding?” Ryndoril asked, his throat dry as he looked up at the angry priestesses surrounding him, their faces blurred slightly with his vision. “What…what wedding?”

“How should I know?” the priestess exploded. “You’re the one that came stumbling in here with that Sam fellow, boasting about the ceremony, and then when we told you to stop fondling the statues of Dibella, _you_ started throwing things!”

 _Sam_? Ondolemar thought, swallowing hard. Ryndoril had been with another man, and now he was…married? The Altmer was sure he must be having a very odd, bad dream. Surely…surely this couldn’t be true. 

“I did…I did what?” Ryndoril asked, stricken. He never would’ve behaved in such a way. And Sam…where was Sam? _That damn Breton!_ “Listen…I’m sorry,” he continued, struggling to his feet finally. He looked around a bit more and saw the place was indeed trashed…and to his immense surprise, there stood Ondolemar behind the priestesses, staring at him with his mouth open and a look of betrayal in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re _sorry_!” the priestess who’d done most of the talking screeched. “Well, I’m sure lady Dibella is just so pleased with the fact that you’re _sorry_ you defiled the statues and destroyed her temple!”

“Please,” Ryndoril said, trying to clear his head. By the Eight, what had that Breton given him? “Please, I’m sorry. I’ll…I’ll fix it. I just…” He broke off, looking pleadingly at Ondolemar. He wasn’t even sure what he expected the Altmer to do, but as his was the only friendly face around, he tried to appeal to him anyway.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, the angry priestess turned around and saw Ondolemar, her eyes widening.

“Oh,” she said, her voice losing its angry quality and turning sultry. “Hello. I’m very sorry, I had no idea we had a visitor. What can I do for you, handsome?” Ondolemar glared at her, offended that she’d talk to him in such a way, and rather angry at Ryndoril; he had come here just for the Bosmer’s sake, because he was coming to care about him and wanted to make him happy. 

And now he was _married_.

“What has happened here?” Ondolemar snapped authoritatively.

“Oh – just a drunken maniac,” the priestess said, casting a contemptuous glance at Ryndoril who still didn’t seem to be able to move. “Don’t worry about him. My name is Senna. What brings you here, Master Thalmor?”

Though Ondolemar appreciated the reverence in her tone at his title – clearly, she knew who he was – nothing could override his hurt at the moment, and he was utterly uninterested in whatever she was trying to offer him anyway. 

“My business is none of yours,” Ondolemar said coldly. “I command you to tell me what has caused such a disturbance at once.”

“Command, hmm?” the woman named Senna said with a slight amusement in her tone. “Well, then. I can’t refuse _that_ , can I?” The other priestesses snickered as they cast jealous or longing looks at Ondolemar as well.

“Look, leave him be,” Ryndoril spoke up, his own annoyance finally getting the better of him. “Ondolemar.” He looked directly at the Altmer, who turned his own eyes to meet the Bosmer’s straight on. Ondolemar could see worry and uncertainty there, which softened his anger a little. “I just…woke up here. I don’t know what happened.”

“You _know_ him?” Senna asked Ondolemar, nonplussed. Ondolemar paused, his gaze still fixed on Ryndoril. The Bosmer’s eyes pleaded with him; clearly, whatever had happened, Ryndoril was quite lost.

“Yes,” Ondolemar finally said, tearing his gaze from Ryndoril and looking at Senna. “I do. Now, tell me how he came to be here, and what he has done.”

“What he has _done_ ,” Senna snapped, angry again as she glared once more at Ryndoril, “is burst in here with his little friend Sam, drunker than anything and start defiling our temple. When he was asked to stop, his friend laughed, and _this_ idiot,” she jerked her thumb at Ryndoril, “started yelling at us that he was a married man and could do what he liked with Dibella! Can you believe?”

“No,” Ondolemar murmured, looking back at Ryndoril. His stomach was clenched tight with anxiety; whatever had happened, it didn’t sound like it meant anything good for him. “And did this Sam say anything about how they got here? Where they’d been?”

Senna regarded Ondolemar with a frown for a moment, but then relented.

“Well, since _you’re_ asking,” she said, her voice regaining her sultry tone, “I suppose I can tell you. They were saying something about Rorikstead and a goat.”

“And the wedding?” Ryndoril spoke up anxiously. “Did…did Sam say anything…?”

“Ridiculous,” Senna huffed, rolling her eyes at Ryndoril. “Stupid enough to get _drunk_ enough to get married and not even remember it. No, he didn’t say anything else about it.”

“Where did he go?” Ryndoril whispered. “Tell me. Please.”

“I don’t know,” Senna sniffed disdainfully. “Once you started threatening us, we left the two of you to it. When we came back up here, you were passed out on the floor and your friend was nowhere to be found.”

“Right,” Ryndoril said, hanging his head. He felt genuinely bad; he never would have behaved liked that, and he had no idea what was going on. The look on Ondolemar’s face was killing him; clearly, the Altmer was sure Ryndoril had betrayed him, but he…he couldn’t have, could he? He _never_ would have…he _couldn’t_ be married! It was some sick prank of Sam’s, surely! “Listen. I’m very sorry. I’ve no idea how I came to be here, and I never meant anyone any harm, I promise you. I…I need to go find Sam.” Sam would be able to give him answers.

“You _need_ to clean up your mess!” Senna demanded, gesturing around them at the temple.

“Of course,” Ryndoril said at once. “Just…please, let me go get a potion to clear my head.”

“As though you’ll come back!” Senna spat.

“I shall escort him,” Ondolemar said. “And I shall ensure he comes back promptly.” Senna looked furious, but apparently liked Ondolemar enough that she couldn’t argue.

“Fine,” she said. “See that he does come back.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said, both to Senna and to Ondolemar. The Altmer simply looked at him coldly, and Ryndoril felt his heart crack a little. Nonetheless, he followed the Altmer out of the temple, the angry glares of the priestesses following them both out the door.

Neither spoke as they walked toward Vlindrel Hall; Ondolemar wasn’t sure what he could say without snapping, and Ryndoril’s head was pounding too hard to think very well. Ryndoril opened the door (thankfully, he still had his belongings – and key - with him), seeing the house was once again empty. Ondolemar shut the door behind them and instinctively cast a magelight for them to see by.

“Ondolemar…” Ryndoril murmured, looking up at the Altmer. Ondolemar swallowed hard again, trying not to betray the ache in his heart.

“You were to come here and retrieve a potion,” Ondolemar said, his voice surprisingly steady. “I suggest you do so quickly.”

“Ondolemar, listen,” Ryndoril said urgently, his courage coming back to him. “I…I honestly have no idea what happened. I think I was tricked, but I…I don’t understand.”

“Then perhaps you should find your _friend_ , Sam, and have him explain it to you,” Ondolemar said, a chill in his voice. 

“I…Ondolemar…please,” Ryndoril pleaded. “You have to believe me.”

“I believe that you ought to find the potion you came for,” Ondolemar said firmly. Ryndoril deflated, sighing out a breath and hanging his head.

“Yes, you’re right,” Ryndoril muttered, turning toward his alchemy laboratory. “I…I’m sorry, you know.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Ondolemar asked, his tone rude; he couldn’t help it. “It sounds as though you were quite close to this Sam, if you _married_ him. Perhaps it’s him you should apologize to, if you had a relationship with him.”

“I didn’t,” Ryndoril said at once, feeling as though Ondolemar had slapped him. He was trying not to acknowledge the fact that it sounded like he’d married this Sam, but Ondolemar put it out there. “I…I only met him last night. I swear.”

“Oh, well, that’s so much better,” Ondolemar said coolly. “Fetch your potion.” Ryndoril nodded, gulping, and finally reached his alchemy lab, finding the potion he wanted quickly. He drank it down at once, relieved that it did clear his head.

“Listen, Ondolemar,” he said firmly, feeling much more confident now that his head was no longer swimming. “I have no idea who this Sam was. I think he was playing a trick on me, but I don’t know what happened.” He hated that the Altmer wouldn’t look at him, and finally stepped right in front of him, gazing up into Ondolemar’s gorgeous face. 

“Are you married, Ryn?” Ondolemar whispered, unable to keep the pain out of his voice as he couldn’t help but look down at the Bosmer. The nickname slipped out before he could stop it.

“I don’t know,” Ryndoril replied honestly, putting his hands on Ondolemar’s arms. “But…I promise that even if I am, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t even remember…” he sighed, shaking his head as his eyes dropped to his feet. “I was at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun. This man named Sam Guevenne proposed a drinking contest for this magical staff. I accepted…and then the next thing I remember, I was waking up in the temple of Dibella. I don’t know what happened last night. I swear it.”

The poor Bosmer sounded so lost and confused that Ondolemar couldn’t help but feel sorry for him; he relented slightly and wrapped his arms around Ryndoril, pulling the smaller elf close in a hug. Ryndoril squeezed him back tightly.

“You’re the only one that means anything to me like that, you know,” Ryndoril murmured into Ondolemar’s chest. The Altmer felt the knot in his stomach loosen a bit at the words, and rested his head on top of Ryndoril’s.

“All this for a drinking contest,” Ondolemar muttered, slightly incredulous though he couldn’t help but believe the Bosmer. “I hope this staff was worth it.”

“I have no idea,” Ryndoril said hopelessly. “I don’t even remember the staff. I barely even remember _Sam_.” He sighed. “Thank you for standing up for me in the temple.”

“The temple that you should be getting back to,” Ondolemar reminded him, pulling away. The Altmer caught the look of anxiety still in the Bosmer’s eyes and managed to give him a small smile. “It will be alright, Ryn. You’ll figure out what happened. And then I shall deal with this _Sam_ myself,” he added dryly. Ryndoril gave a small smile in return.

“You’re not mad at me?” Ryndoril asked hopefully.

“Seeing as you can’t remember anything you did, it would hardly be fair,” Ondolemar replied. It was true; as much as he might want to be angry with the Bosmer, it wasn’t exactly his fault if he was tricked. “Sam, on the other hand…”

“Yeah, well, I’ll be having a few words with the man myself,” Ryndoril muttered. “Just…I’ve still got you to come back to, right?” Ondolemar’s heart fluttered in his chest.

“Of course you do,” Ondolemar said softly, feeling more tender toward the Bosmer again. Ridiculous as it was, he was utterly infatuated with the small elf, and found he could deny him nothing. “Is your head alright now?”

“Fine,” Ryndoril said, squeezing Ondolemar once more quickly. “We should get back to the temple. I have to figure out what happened.”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar agreed. The two headed back to the temple where Ondolemar, in a rare moment of compassion, stayed to help Ryndoril clean up. The priestess Senna kept hovering around him, trying to assure him he hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t need to make up for the sins of anyone else, but Ondolemar largely ignored her. It was clear the woman was infatuated with him, and he didn’t like the attention at all. In the end, he was rather glad Ryndoril’s shenanigans had kept him from his true purpose at the temple; with Senna there, it likely wouldn’t have gone well at all.

Soon enough, the temple was restored to its original state, clean and rubbish-free, and once Ryndoril had offered a short prayer at the shrine of Dibella, Senna seemed placated.

“Stay away from strangers with drinks next time,” she advised Ryndoril, her voice betraying the slightest hint of amusement.

“I will be,” Ryndoril said dryly, offering one of his heart-stopping grins. The priestess seemed rather unfazed by it, however, as she gazed back at Ondolemar.

“ _You’re_ welcome to come back here anytime,” Senna said, directing her words at the Altmer. He couldn’t help the slight sneer that came over his face at the thought, and Ryndoril chuckled.

“Thank you, Senna,” Ryndoril broke in before Ondolemar could speak; he was sure the Altmer was about to say something rude. “I’ll be sure this never happens again.”

“Well, see that you do,” Senna said, though she offered him a somewhat friendly smile anyway. Ryndoril left the temple, Ondolemar just behind him, and they walked a little ways back toward Vlindrel Hall before stopping in front of the waterfall near the house.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril started, looking up at the Altmer, “I want you to know…I’m s-“ Ondolemar lifted his hand to press a finger against the Bosmer’s lips, cutting him off.

“I know,” Ondolemar said quietly. He knew the Bosmer was sorry, and he knew that Ryndoril was feeling guilty about what had happened. He didn’t need to hear the apology again. Ryndoril smiled and kissed Ondolemar’s finger, taking the Altmer’s hand and sliding it to his cheek.

“I’ll fix it,” Ryndoril promised. “I promise. There isn’t…there isn’t anyone else.” Ondolemar wouldn’t deny he was still a bit upset at the idea of Ryndoril having gotten married, but to hear the reassuring words from the Bosmer’s lips…well, it helped all the same.

Ondolemar looked down at Ryndoril for a moment, contemplating him, and promptly decided none of it mattered. Hand still cupping the Bosmer’s cheek, he leaned in and gently kissed Ryndoril’s lips. The smaller elf was grinning hugely as he pulled away, and as usual, it was contagious; Ondolemar felt a smile on his own lips as well.

“Be careful,” Ondolemar said softly, thumb caressing Ryndoril’s cheek. “I don’t know what this Sam person did, but it nearly sounds like he poisoned you. I would hate for anything to happen to you over this.”

“Ah, don’t worry about me,” Ryndoril grinned, giddy over the Altmer’s concern. “I’ll be on the lookout for trouble. And I won’t be taking drinks from strangers again,” he added with a laugh.

“Are you going to Rorikstead, then?” Ondolemar asked.

“I am,” Ryndoril nodded, sighing a little. What a mess he’d gotten himself into! “It’s the only lead I’ve got at the moment, and I’ve got to figure out what the hell happened.”

“I wish you luck,” Ondolemar said, letting his hand fall from Ryndoril’s face and squeeze the Bosmer’s shoulder instead. He hesitated, a bit anxious. “You…you will tell me what happened, when you find out, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” Ryndoril said seriously. “Besides,” he added with a grin, “it sounds like the beginning to an awfully good story.” Ondolemar sighed and rolled his eyes in amusement. Of course the Bosmer _would_ think that. 

“Then I shall see you later,” Ondolemar said.

“Right,” Ryndoril agreed, squeezing Ondolemar’s arm. “I’ll just take stock of my things and be on my way.” Ondolemar nodded, turning to go, and then paused, looking back at the Bosmer.

“Ryn,” he said, looking a little hesitant.

“Hmm?” Ryndoril asked, giving the Altmer an expectant smile.

“Hurry back,” Ondolemar said quietly. Ryndoril laughed with happiness at the request.

“That’s a promise,” Ryndoril winked at the Altmer. He was pleased with the smile that crossed Ondolemar’s face as he turned to go.

Ryndoril made his way to his house, going through his things. It seemed Sam had left all of his stuff intact, at least, and hadn’t stolen anything. When he got his hands on that Breton, though…

Once he was sure he had all of his things and stocked up on a few more potions, Ryndoril headed out the door, determined to find out what had happened to Sam, who he was married to, and what the hell was going on.

*****

By the time Ryndoril arrived in Rorikstead, it was late evening. The little village wasn’t that far from Markarth, but he’d had to fight several Forsworn along the way before fighting through a downpour. He finally stumbled into the inn, drenched from head to toe, to find the innkeeper was still awake.

“Ryndoril!” a familiar voice said excitedly as the Bosmer paid the innkeeper, and Ryndoril turned to find an eager-faced young man looking at him. “What happened to you? You’re soaked!”

“Erik, leave the poor elf be,” the innkeeper, Mralki, scolded his son. “You know where the room is, Ryndoril. If you want to have a seat, I’ll bring you out some stew.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril smiled tiredly at the innkeeper before turning his attention to Erik. “Well, look at you – full set of armor!”

“Yeah,” Erik said happily. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Of course not,” Ryndoril laughed, motioning the man to follow him and sitting at a nearby table. He liked the young man’s eagerness and personable nature, and the last time he’d been in Rorikstead he’d convinced Mralki to let his son go adventuring like he wanted. It looked like Erik had finally gotten the armor he needed, at least.

“What brings you back to Rorikstead?” Erik asked. “Have you been somewhere amazing? Did you fight loads of bandits?”

“Not quite,” Ryndoril grinned, shaking his head in amusement at the young man. “It was Forsworn this time, and frankly, I don’t know where I’ve been,” he finished ruefully.

“What do you mean?” Erik asked, eager as ever. “Did something happen?”

“Bit of advice,” Ryndoril said as Mralki brought him stew, “don’t get into a drinking contest with a stranger in a tavern.”

“Wow,” Erik said, clearly amazed at the idea. “What happened?”

“Well, so far, I had a drink in Whiterun, woke up in the Temple of Dibella with the priestesses yelling at me, and was told I mentioned Rorikstead,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head as he took a bite of his stew. “Don’t suppose you saw me last night?”

“No,” Erik said, shaking his head. “I had no idea you were here.”

“What about Sam?” Ryndoril pressed. “Sam Guevenne.” Erik looked thoughtful for a moment.

“No, I’ve never heard of him,” Erik said. “Sorry. Is he your partner?” Though it was clear the young man meant ‘adventuring partner’, Ryndoril reddened a bit anyway – he really didn’t _think_ he could have married Sam, but who was to say?

“Not exactly,” Ryndoril said. “But he was apparently with me last night…and I was hoping to figure out what in the world happened.”

“Well, I’ll ask around for you tomorrow, if you like,” Erik offered.

“I’ll probably be doing that myself,” Ryndoril nodded, downing his stew quickly – he only just realized he’d been quite hungry.

“Listen,” Erik said earnestly, hesitant but determined. “Do you – do you want some…well…help?” Ryndoril cocked his head curiously at the young man.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Erik trailed off, his face reddening, and Ryndoril managed to keep himself from laughing at the poor boy’s indecision. “I mean,” he tried again, sounding more confident, “that I am a mercenary, and my services are for hire.” Ryndoril chuckled.

“Dad doesn’t want you going out on your own just yet?” he asked knowingly. Erik reddened further, but nodded. “Well. Do you have any experience at all?”

“Well…um…no,” Erik said sheepishly. “But I’m willing to learn, I swear!” Ryndoril grinned at him.

“I’ll let you know once I figure out what I’m doing,” the Bosmer allowed. “If I do need assistance…I will be glad to have you accompany me.” The young man’s face lit up brightly at the promise.

“Really?” Erik asked, as though he didn’t dare believe it.

“Really,” Ryndoril laughed. “But right now, I just need some sleep and then to find out where I’m even headed next. So I’ll talk to you in the morning, alright?”

“Y-yeah!” Erik said. “Great! Perfect!” Ryndoril grinned as the young man got up and walked away, looking a bit dazed. He wouldn’t mind the Nord accompanying him, but as he really _didn’t_ know where he was going next, he was unwilling to put the man in any real significant danger straight off. It would be better to wait and see.


	2. Chapter 2

“Your _goat_? She’s your _goat_?” Ryndoril asked incredulously. He’d finally found out what he’d been doing in Rorikstead the night before – a man named Ennis had spotted him at the inn and started ranting at him. When he’d finally calmed the man down, he’d ascertained that he’d kidnapped this man’s daughter named Gleda and sold her to a giant. After Ennis ranted for a good long while, he’d finally mentioned the fact that Gleda was not, in fact, his daughter; Gleda was a goat. Ryndoril had been horrified to think he’d stolen a child to sell to a giant, but now he was simply growing annoyed.

“A prize-winning goat!” Ennis cried. “Oh, my poor Gleda, I will never breed another goat like her!”

“Alright,” Ryndoril said impatiently, shaking his head. “Can you tell me where this giant went, then?”

“You took off that way!” Ennis roared, pointing off to the northwest. “I’m telling you right now, if anything has happened to my poor – “

“Listen,” Ryndoril cut him off. “It’s fine. I’ll get Gleda back. Don’t worry.”

“You better not show your face here unless you’re bringing back my prize goat!” Ennis snapped. Ryndoril just shook his head wearily; this was already turning out to be a long day, and he’d barely finished breakfast.

He looked around and saw Erik watching hopefully; clearly the young man had been listening. Ryndoril decided that rescuing a goat from a giant was certainly not extraordinarily dangerous – particularly as he fully planned on slipping in and sneaking the goat away before the giant noticed – and so went to Erik’s table.

“Looks like I’m going to be getting a goat back from a giant,” Ryndoril said lightly. “You up for that?”

“Oh, yes!” Erik said happily, already in his armor. “Yes, I would love to! I – I mean,” he cleared his throat, clearly trying to temper his excitement and sound more professional, “my skills come at a price, you know.” Ryndoril couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle despite his frustration with Ennis.

“Alright,” he agreed. He paid the fee Erik asked and the two set out together, heading in the direction Ennis had indicated.

****

“Look, it’s there!” Erik said excitedly, pointing at the giant. Ryndoril tried hard not to roll his eyes.

“Yes, and keep your voice down,” Ryndoril whispered. “Keep a lookout for me, alright? I’m going to try and sneak the goat away before he sees me.”

“You…you mean we’re not going to fight it?” Erik asked, disappointment evident in his tone.

“Not if we don’t have to,” Ryndoril said grimly. “Giants are best left alone unless you have no other choice. Just make sure nothing sneaks up on me.”

“Oh,” Erik said, his face falling. “Alright.”

“Don’t worry,” Ryndoril said with a reassuring grin. “You’ll have plenty of chances to take down enemies in your life. But it’s best to choose wisely. I’ll be right back.” With that, he started to stealthily move away from Erik, keeping to the tall grass and behind rocks as he sneaked closer to the giant and the goat.

He finally came out on the other side of a rock very close to where the goat was; the giant was looking the other direction. Perfect.

“Gleda,” Ryndoril hissed, staying close to the rock and trying to attract the goat’s attention. “Gleda, come on, girl!” The goat looked up from her contented munching; she seemed unharmed, for which Ryndoril was grateful. He didn’t like to think what Ennis’ reaction would be if he showed back up with an injured goat.

Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to care in the slightest that he was there. He readied the length of rope he’d prepared before leaving Rorikstead, hoping to slip it around her neck as a lead, and crept closer. Focused on the goat as he was, though, he didn’t see the loose stone in front of his boot and kicked it, causing the giant’s attention to turn toward him. The giant looked surprised at first, and Ryndoril made a split-second decision as his heart pounded – they would run for it. He leapt forward, put the rope around Gleda’s neck before the giant had moved, and was already several steps away with the willing-enough goat before the giant started to chase him.

“Erik, run!” Ryndoril cried, hurrying back toward the young Nord. But Erik did not run. He stood, staring transfixed at the giant, before all at once readying his weapon – an old iron sword. “Erik, don’t be an idiot! Run!”

“I’m not going to run away from danger!” Erik cried, advancing on the giant with his sword at the ready. “I didn’t become an adventurer to run away!” Ryndoril wanted to scream in frustration as he passed the young Nord, now flying at the giant. Gods damn him for not listening!

“You stay put,” he snapped at Gleda the goat through gritted teeth as he tucked her away behind the nearest rock, readying his bow in one swift motion. He wasn’t going to let the idiot Nord get himself killed already.

The giant was already almost to Erik, and there was little left to be done aside from killing the giant outright. He fired off three arrows before Erik and the giant met, trying to stay back out of range as he saw the foolish Nord swing his blade.

“Erik, get out of the way!” Ryndoril cried, walking closer as he aimed his bow. “That club will knock you into pieces!” Erik, however, now faced with the giant’s knee a foot from his face and a bloody gash barely affecting the monster, seemed frozen to the spot. “Erik! Move!” The giant’s club started to swing down, straight for the Nord, and Ryndoril felt himself panicking. He managed to get off an arrow in the giant’s forearm, distracting the beast just enough that the swing of his club missed.

Unfortunately, the giant’s attention was now on Ryndoril, and they were no longer very far apart. Ryndoril was quite determined however, and continued firing arrows at the giant; every single one hit its mark exactly, though the giant’s skin was hard to penetrate properly. 

“Erik! Move!” Ryndoril roared again as the giant’s foot barely missed squashing the Nord. It seemed the young man had finally come to his senses, because he quickly scrambled away from the giant, who paid him no mind as his gaze was now fixed on Ryndoril. The giant roared in frustration as Ryndoril backed away from the swinging club, still firing off arrows. 

After getting in a good hit at the giant’s arm, making it stagger backwards a step, Ryndoril took a fleeting second to look around for Erik, hoping the young man was okay. The momentary lapse in focus on the giant was all it took, however, as the next second Ryndoril had been hit hard by the giant’s club, flying through the air with the force of the impact and landing face down next to a rock with all the wind knocked out of him. Ryndoril gasped for breath, trying desperately to suck air into his aching chest. He felt the giant’s footsteps coming at him, but could hardly move. Finally though, sweet, clean air poured into his lungs, allowing him to catch his breath as he scrambled further away, trying to get another arrow in his bow. He rolled over onto his back, aiming his bow, and hit the giant squarely in his eye even as every muscle in the Bosmer’s body cried out in protest. He was sure a few bones were broken, at least, but he didn’t have time to reach for a healing potion.

The giant cried out in agony as the arrow pierced his eye, pausing long enough to let Ryndoril get further away. He had no idea where Erik and Gleda were at the moment, but he didn’t really care very much, either. His focus was on killing the giant before it killed him.

He struggled, trying to get to his feet, and made it as far as his knees before he collapsed again with a cry of pain. The giant was coming at him again, enraged as blood poured from its eye, and started to swing the club. It stopped mid-swing, though, looking around in confusion; Erik had stabbed it in the leg again. It gave Ryndoril just enough time to shoot off one more arrow, and his aim was as good as always. It pierced right through the ruined eye, lodging itself in the giant’s head and causing the beast to sway for a terrifying moment before toppling to the ground.

The club, however, landed directly on Ryndoril. He remembered crying out in pain, and then everything went dark.

*****

Erik was in a state of panic. He’d just fought a giant, and though it was dead, it had been absolutely terrifying. Now the one he’d come out with, who had saved his life, was lying on the ground, broken and maybe even dead.

What a terrible first experience _this_ had been!

He thought frantically; he couldn’t just leave the elf, not after what had happened. But he couldn’t go running back to Rorikstead and _tell_ anyone about this! He knew there were such things as healing spells and potions, but he was no mage or alchemist. With a frustrated groan, he realized there was nothing for it; he could either leave the elf to definitely die, or try and get him back to Rorikstead. He knew it was cowardly to leave the Bosmer, so he had to do the latter.

Struggling with the weight of the giant’s club, Erik managed to get the Bosmer up, heaving him over his shoulders. Grabbing the rope around Gleda’s neck, he made his way back to the town, hoping his father wouldn’t be _too_ upset.

*****

Ryndoril awoke with a groan of pain; it felt like he’d been trampled. When his memory caught up to the present, he realized that wasn’t so far from the truth; the giant had hit him hard.

He opened his eyes, looking around; he was inside, somewhere. Had Erik gotten him back to Rorikstead, then? At least he was alive, he thought ruefully. By the Eight, what he wouldn’t give for a bit of healing magic at the moment!

The door opened then and Ryndoril craned his neck to look; he gasped with pain when it hurt him terribly.

“Take it easy,” the old innkeeper’s voice said gently. “Just lie still.”

“How did I get back here?” Ryndoril asked. His throat was dry, and even talking hurt.

“My son carried you back,” Mralki said apologetically. “The fool of a boy probably injured you more, the way he was carrying you, but…” The innkeeper sighed and shrugged. “Look, I found a few potion bottles in your pack, but I’m no alchemist. I don’t know what’s what. Are any of them healing potions?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril breathed, closing his eyes. That foolish, idiot Nord! He could’ve gotten them both killed. “The red ones with the gold labels.” He heard Mralki going through some bottles, finally holding up several.

“Here you go,” Mralki said, setting them down by the bed Ryndoril was lying in and uncorking one for the Bosmer. “I’m sorry about my son.” Ryndoril frowned as he swallowed the potion.

“Your son needs to learn to listen,” Ryndoril managed to say. The ache was already starting to leave him with the aid of the potion, thankfully.

“You’re not the first to say it, and I’m sure you won’t be the last,” Mralki said wryly. “He told me what happened, and he apologized as well. He didn’t mean to get you hurt.”

“I know he didn’t,” Ryndoril sighed, taking another potion and gulping it down. “He’s just trying to be what he thinks he’s supposed to be. It’s alright. Did he get the goat back?”

“Aye,” Mralki nodded. “Ennis was quite pleased. He said you left this,” Mralki added, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “It’s damn near unreadable though.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said, sitting up properly now as he reached for a third potion. He knew there wasn’t a lot more help to be had at this point from the potions, but he was going to take what he could. He downed that one and then unfolded the note.

Most of it had been washed away by the stain of mead, and what was legible didn’t make much sense. It seemed to mention something about repaying Ysolda in Whiterun. Well, at least he knew Lydia was in Whiterun…and _she_ was certainly a capable companion.

“Right, then,” Ryndoril said, getting to his feet and swaying a bit, lightheaded. “I’m going to head to Whiterun, it looks like.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t stay and rest a while?” Mralki said in concern, steadying the Bosmer. “It was quite a lot of damage you took, Erik said.”

“I’ll be alright,” Ryndoril said, though he still ached a fair bit. The promise of his own bed in Whiterun, and his competent housecarl, was just too alluring to put off. “What…what time is it?”

“It’s just after noon,” Mralki said. “You should be able to get there before dark, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said, gathering his things and wincing slightly as he hoisted up his pack.

“Ryndoril,” Mralki said, his tone suddenly serious, and the Bosmer turned to him. “Listen…I’m sorry for what happened, but – thank you. Thank you for not letting my son be killed.” Ryndoril managed a small smile.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “I’m glad I managed it. Just…keep an eye on him for a bit longer, yeah? Maybe get him some training.”

“Probably a good idea,” Mralki agreed. He held out his hand and Ryndoril shook it, making sure he had all his things packed away before heading out the door. 

“Ryndoril!” Erik said anxiously, spotting him. “Gods, I’m so sorry – “

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryndoril said, trying to sound friendly. He knew the man hadn’t meant for all that to happen. “I’m alright, and you got me back here. And the goat, too – good job.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Erik asked at once.

“I’ll be fine,” Ryndoril nodded. “In the future, though, you might want to know; bottles like these – “ he held up a healing potion – “are healing potions. If your companion has any in their pack, it’s a good idea to give it to them.”

“I didn’t know,” Erik said miserably. Ryndoril offered him a smile.

“I know you didn’t,” he assured the man. “It’s alright. But now you know, for next time.”

“There shouldn’t be a next time,” Erik sighed, looking at the floor. “I never should have – “

“Stop it,” Ryndoril said firmly. “You just need a bit of training…and to listen when someone tells you to do something,” he added dryly. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it.”

“You think?” Erik asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Ryndoril said, though he hoped very much Erik would get quite a _lot_ of training before trying to go out again. “I’ll see you later. Good luck, alright?”

“Thank you,” Erik said sincerely. “Thank you, Ryndoril.” Ryndoril grinned at him, waved at Mralki, and headed out the door, starting toward Whiterun.

He was going to _murder_ Sam Guevenne when he found that damn Breton!

*****

“My Thane,” Lydia said in surprise as the Bosmer came in the door of Breezehome that evening. Fortunately his trip had been easy and quiet from Rorikstead.

“Hey, Lydia,” Ryndoril grinned at her, a bit tired from the long journey.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Lydia said, getting to her feet from the chair she’d been sitting in. “I can make you something for dinner – “

“Relax,” Ryndoril laughed, waving his hand at her. “Sit down, you’re fine. I didn’t exactly plan to be coming today.”

“Is everything alright?” Lydia asked in concern, utterly ignoring Ryndoril’s plea for her to sit. “You look miserable. Is your eye okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head; he wondered just how bad he must look. “Just let me put my stuff down and I’ll go grab some dinner at the inn, you don’t need to put yourself – “

“Lydia?” a deep, male voice interrupted from upstairs. Ryndoril stopped, looking at Lydia, and burst out laughing. He knew he recognized the voice.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding out,” Ryndoril called up the stairs to his other housecarl. The Nord emerged from Lydia’s bedroom, looking sleepy and dressed in a comfortable tunic and trousers rather than the armor Ryndoril usually saw him in. His eyes widened when he saw the Bosmer.

“My Thane,” Argis said, torn between embarrassment and surprise. “I – I don’t – I mean – “

“It’s alright,” Ryndoril said, chuckling and waving a dismissive hand at Argis. “Don’t worry about it. Look, I’ll head to the inn – “

“No,” Lydia said at once. “Don’t be ridiculous, my Thane. You’re exhausted; go up to bed, and I’ll bring you something to eat.” Ryndoril smiled at her.

“Lydia, you are amazing,” he said, truly relieved to be back in her presence. The experience with Erik had really shaken him more than he’d like to admit. “Thank you.”

“And I’ll…uh…be going,” Argis said, turning to go back into Lydia’s room.

“No, no!” Ryndoril said, going up the stairs. “Please, Argis, stay. It really doesn’t bother me.” The Nord didn’t seem to know what else to say, so Ryndoril simply clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder as he passed and headed into his own room. A few moments later, he heard the two talking in low voices down below, and shook his head with a chuckle.

He’d always felt a little badly that Lydia was stuck at the house by herself when he wasn’t around, and hadn’t really liked the idea of another housecarl having it the same way. He was truthfully very glad the two had become so close, and he hoped the fact they were both beholden to him wouldn’t stop them being together.

Ryndoril changed out of his armor into a more comfortable tunic and loose trousers. Before he pulled his tunic on, he saw the beginnings of a nasty bruise over his ribs; there was little he liked less than getting hit by giants, he thought with a grimace. No wonder he was sore.

He sighed, pulling the tunic over his head before lying down on the bed with a book he’d left in Breezehome last time. It was wonderful to ease his aching body onto the mattress, even though it was made of straw and not down like his bed in Markarth. After such a journey, though, just being somewhere like home was a nice feeling.

He missed Ondolemar already – he’d never really felt that way about someone before, and it surprised him a little to realize it. He had friends, of course, but he had friends just about everywhere he went; none of them ever made him feel like it hurt a little just to be away from them.

His mind wandered to thinking about who this person he’d apparently married might be. He would talk to Ysolda in the morning, and hoped she would have answers for him, but…he simply couldn’t forget the look of betrayal on Ondolemar’s face. Everything had seemed better just before Ryndoril had set out, but he had never wanted to hurt the Altmer. _Would_ never want to.

Wincing a little as he shifted on the bed, Ryndoril wondered whether Ondolemar was any good at healing magic. With the talent he seemed to have, he realized the Altmer probably was. He wished he had a little of it just now. The pain wasn’t unbearable by any means, but it was uncomfortable.

He heard the door downstairs open and then shut again; he wondered who had gone out and why. A few minutes later, Lydia came up with a steaming bowl of soup; he realized he’d been lost in thought and not remotely reading.

“Lydia, you are wonderful,” Ryndoril grinned, taking the bowl from her. She smiled at him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, I think I’ll be alright,” Ryndoril chuckled. “Did Argis leave?”

“Er…yes,” Lydia said, blushing and looking away. “He went to stay at the inn tonight.”

“Oh, Lydia, come on,” Ryndoril said, a little exasperated. “You two don’t need to hide from me, alright? I know you don’t seem to believe me, but I honestly _don’t care_.”

“It’s just…improper,” Lydia muttered. Ryndoril snorted.

“You want to talk about improper? Couple nights ago, I took on a man named Sam in a drinking contest in the Bannered Mare. Woke up in the Temple of Dibella, found out I apparently got _married_ at some point, and sold a farmer’s goat to a giant in Rorikstead to pay for something I bought from Ysolda.”

Lydia stared.

“Really?” she finally asked. Ryndoril chuckled.

“Really,” he nodded. “So if your _Thane_ can manage all that…I think you can have a relationship with someone.” Lydia couldn’t help it; she finally laughed, too.

“You do get yourself into some scrapes, don’t you?” she asked Ryndoril. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Talk to Ysolda in the morning, I guess,” Ryndoril shrugged. “See if she can point me in another direction.”

“Do you need any help?” Lydia asked.

“I have no idea,” Ryndoril chuckled ruefully. “But if I do, I’ll let you know.”

“Want me to do anything about your eye?” she asked, gesturing to his right eye. He reached up and touched it, wincing slightly and realizing it must be bruised.

“Nah,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I already took a few healing potions, I’ll be alright. It’s not that bad.” He took a bite of the soup, grinning at his housecarl. “Delicious as always. Thanks, Lydia.”

“Of course, my Thane,” Lydia nodded.

“Look, go get Argis,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “Please. Don’t stop being with him just because of me, or because I’m around. I promise you, it’s fine.” Lydia regarded him for a moment, seeming unsure, but finally smiled.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Anytime,” Ryndoril smiled back, waving her off. “Go on. I’ll see you later.” He couldn’t help grinning at the way Lydia hurried out of the room, though it was clear she was trying not to let her eagerness show. He heard the door close downstairs and shook his head in amusement. He really hoped they’d manage to be happy with one another, instead of worrying so much about what he thought.

He finished his soup, then got up to clean himself in the washbasin a bit. There was a rather filthy old mirror above the washbasin, and he used it to look at his eye; it really did look pretty bad, surrounded by a rough bruise. He sighed as he crawled into bed, knowing there wasn’t a lot more to be done about it; some things just didn’t react to healing potions all that well, and it wasn’t exactly life-threatening.

Ryndoril drifted off to sleep, his last conscious thoughts of Ondolemar.


	3. Chapter 3

When Ryndoril finally found Ysolda the next day, she was terribly disappointed in him. He had tried to explain that he had no idea what had happened, but rather than making her sympathetic, it only seemed to annoy the woman further.

Finally, though, several apologies and his grin won her over. She explained how Ryndoril had come to her with his friend, Sam, telling a beautiful tale of meeting his beloved fiancée in Witchmist Grove. She had decided to be kind, giving him the ring with a promise to pay later, but her patience was running out. 

Now, though, she just seemed more disappointed in him for losing his fiancée than anything. She pointed him toward Witchmist Grove, telling him he better get her ring back since it had obviously meant nothing to him.

Ryndoril shook his head as he walked back toward the house to get ready. He’d gotten married – or been about to get married – and to top it off, it was to a woman! What in the name of the Divines had Sam gotten him into?

Witchmist Grove was over in Eastmarch, so after packing up, Ryndoril went to the inn, hoping to find Lydia and ask her to come with him. Fortunately for the Bosmer, Lydia was sitting at a table with Argis right near the front.

“Find out anything?” Lydia asked when Ryndoril approached them.

“Too much,” Ryndoril said, rolling his eyes. “Apparently, I met some woman in Witchmist Grove, and told Ysolda all about it so she’d give me the wedding ring. So now I need to head to Witchmist Grove, find my…fiancée, or wife, or whatever the hell she is, and get the ring back to Ysolda.” Lydia couldn’t help a small laugh, and even Argis looked amused.

“Sorry,” Lydia said, trying to contain herself. “I don’t mean to laugh.”

“Nah,” Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head. “It’s alright. It’s ridiculous, I know it.”

“What about…ah…that Thalmor?” Lydia asked, her cheeks reddening slightly as she brought it up.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said, a fond smile coming to his face as he said the name. “Well, believe me, Lydia, if I were to go off and get married to anyone, it wouldn’t be a woman. I don’t remember a damn thing that happened…and I’m just going to have to hope Ondolemar believes me.” Oh, but he really hoped the elf would believe him…his heart clenched at the idea of even telling the mer about this.

“Oh, I know it wouldn’t be a woman,” Lydia smirked wryly. She had developed a bit of a crush on Ryndoril when she first started serving him, only to find herself disappointed when he finally revealed he preferred males. She’d gotten over it easily, though, in light of their friendship. “So, do you know where Witchmist Grove is?”

“Not exactly,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I just know it’s in Eastmarch. Ysolda gave me some directions, but…”

“I know where it is,” Lydia nodded. “It’s south of Kynesgrove, right in the hot springs.”

“Excellent,” Ryndoril grinned. “I knew I could count on you.” And at least this time, he’d have experienced Lydia at his back.

“I should probably head back to Markarth,” Argis said awkwardly. Ryndoril shrugged.

“Vlindrel Hall isn’t going anywhere. Come with us. Never know what we’ll come across.”

“Are you sure?” Lydia asked, sounding a little excited at the idea.

“Of course,” Ryndoril grinned. “Hey, I might as well drown in my mortification completely, right?” Lydia laughed.

“Well, I can’t exactly say it happens to everyone,” she said wryly. “You’re one of the few people I’ve ever met who could manage such a thing, I think.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryndoril shrugged. There wasn’t a lot of point being too embarrassed about it, after all.

“Let us get our things at the house, we’ll meet you by the gate soon, alright?”

“Excellent,” Ryndoril grinned. “I’ll stock up on some more arrows from Elrindir.”

Soon enough, the three were headed down the road out of Whiterun, and Ryndoril couldn’t stop wondering what kind of woman he could have possibly ended up marrying. He really hadn’t thought he was all _that_ drunk.

*****

An attack by a few wolves and pair of bears hindered them slightly along the road as they approached Witchmist Grove. Ryndoril always thought it odd when animals would attack him together like that. With Lydia and Argis’ assistance, the animals were easily taken care of, though Ryndoril had managed to get a rather nasty scratch right across his chest from one of the bears.

Waving away Lydia’s offer for assistance, he downed a healing potion and mopped himself up as best he could with the bandages he carried. The claws had penetrated right through his armor, leaving it bloodstained and ripped, but he would deal with it later. A few more scars were hardly going to matter, after all.

It was late afternoon when they finally reached Witchmist Grove. It was a rather dank and somewhat smelly place; he wondered how in Nirn it had been romantic. However, there in the middle of the grove was a ramshackle wooden house. He sighed, realizing it was very likely the women he had married, or almost married, was inside.

“Good luck,” Argis said, shaking his head in dismay as he looked around. Ryndoril nodded grimly; this didn’t seem likely to turn out well. He led the way to the house, asking his housecarls to wait a little way back; he thought it would be rudely intimidating to knock on the door with them both at his back when all he wanted was to apologize and get his ring back. 

He hesitated a moment before knocking on the door, though it looked like it might fall in at any moment anyway. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when the door opened.

“Ah, my darling!” the hagraven standing in the doorway screeched.

Ryndoril thought he might faint.

“I…you…what?” Ryndoril finally choked out. Sam…had married him off…to a _hagraven_?!

“I’ve been waiting for you to return, to consummate our love!” the hagraven said. Ryndoril could hear Lydia’s suppressed giggles behind him, and an odd snorting sound that told him Argis was quite as amused.

He, himself, was _not_.

“Ah,” Ryndoril said delicately when he’d found his voice again. “Um, well. See, I didn’t actually…I didn’t really know what I was doing last night. I…ah…” He cleared his throat, wanting to send an arrow or two at his two unhelpful housecarls. The hagraven waited expectantly. “You see, I just kind of wanted to get the ring back.” The hagraven’s ugly face turned even uglier at that.

“What?” she screamed. “You want it for that hussy Esmerelda, with the dark feathers – don’t you?”

“No, no!” Ryndoril said quickly. “I just – “

“Well, I won’t let her have you!” the hagraven yelled. “If I can’t have you, no one else can, either!” And before Ryndoril could even think about reacting, her clawed hands had swiped him across the face.

He cried out in surprise and pain, and heard the laughing behind him immediately stop. An arrow flew just past the hagraven’s head as Ryndoril was still trying to gather himself; Lydia was quick. A moment later, Argis ran past, brandishing his steel sword. Ryndoril managed to orient himself and reach for his bow, but the next thing he knew he was flying backwards with the force of a massive fireball.

Ignoring the pain from the scratches on his face and the burn marks on his arms, Ryndoril forced himself back to his feet, firing off arrow after arrow at the hagraven and carefully avoiding Argis as he tried to battle her up close. The hagraven let off another massive fireball as Argis managed to get a good hit in on her neck; it knocked her to the ground, but didn’t stop Ryndoril getting burnt again. Lydia managed the killing blow, driving an arrow through the hagraven’s head.

“She wearing the ring?” Ryndoril coughed, sinking to the ground with weakness after a moment.

“Yes, it’s here, my Thane,” Argis panted, yanking it off the hagraven’s hand and holding it up.

“Are you alright?” Lydia asked anxiously, hurrying to Ryndoril. He nodded, already going through his pack for potions.

“I’ll be fine,” he breathed. The unexpectedness of the fight had thrown him off a little, and after having already been attacked by bears, wolves, and a giant in the last few days, he was starting to get a bit worn.

And he was going to _murder_ Sam Guevenne.

He downed a few more healing potions, wondering if they were going to stop being effective before long, and an energizing draught. Argis took a potion as well, having been burnt too, but Lydia was unharmed.

“So…you got drunk and married a hagraven,” Argis said, handing over the ring after he pulled Ryndoril to his feet. “What in Oblivion were you drinking?”

“I’m starting to think it did come from Oblivion,” Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head which had started to ache. “I’ve had more to drink than that before and never ended up like this. I was tricked.”

“Or poisoned,” Lydia frowned.

“That’s what Ondolemar suggested, and I’m starting to agree,” Ryndoril nodded. “Ugh. We’ve got the ring, let’s just get back to Whiterun.”

“You sure you’re okay to start out?” Lydia asked in concern. Ryndoril managed a tired smile.

“I’m fine,” he promised. “Just might take a bit of a vacation after this. I still need to find Sam.”

“Well, maybe Ysolda will be willing to tell you more, now that you’ve got her ring,” Lydia reasoned.

“I hope so,” Ryndoril said. He couldn’t imagine what was going to happen when he told Ondolemar about all of this. It was insanity.

*****

Ysolda was still annoyed with Ryndoril, saying she couldn’t believe he had just taken something like marriage so carelessly. When she saw how tired and injured he was, though, it softened her up enough to tell him he’d said the ceremony would be at a place called Morvunskar, an old fort just outside of Windhelm. He thanked her, tiredly telling Lydia and Argis they would set out the next day, as it was already quite late. It hadn’t taken them as long to get back to Whiterun as it had to get to Witchmist Grove, but it hadn’t been a short trip, either.

He went up to bed, getting settled as he heard Lydia and Argis moving around and getting ready for bed in his housecarl’s room. It occurred to him that if they were both going to be at Breezehome more often than he was, he might as well offer them the larger bed. If he could talk Lydia into it, anyway.

Ryndoril lay in bed for a long time, unable to get to sleep despite his exhaustion. He was aching more than he usually did from his various injuries, but even that didn’t usually keep him from sleeping. Tonight, though, his mind wouldn’t shut off.

It really bothered him that all of this had happened. He’d made a stupid decision to trust someone who, it turned out, had likely poisoned him or drugged him in some fashion, anyway. After blacking out – which had never happened to him before – he’d apparently met a hagraven, proposed to her with a ring he’d conned Ysolda into giving him, and then took off to try and find the money to pay her back. He wondered if it had been his own idea or Sam’s to steal Ennis’ goat to sell to the giant for the money.

For that matter, he wondered where the money _was_. Not that it really mattered, in light of the rest of it.

He’d woken up being told he’d desecrated the Temple of Dibella – no doubt on Sam’s suggestion, as he had little interest in fondling women _anyway_ , let alone statues of women. And then Ondolemar…

The Altmer had looked so hurt, so betrayed. Ryndoril couldn’t blame him, really, but it had felt like a kick in the gut to see the look on the mer’s face. He certainly missed him very much, particularly in light of upsetting him. The Bosmer was at least glad that Ondolemar had seemed to forgive him a little before he left.

And as soon as he went to Morvunskar and found Sam Guevenne, he would certainly be on his way back to Markarth. And after all of this…he was going to take a bit of a rest for sure.

The happy thought of spending a few days with Ondolemar finally relaxed him enough to fall into sleep.

*****

Morvunskar, it turned out, was an old, broken watchtower just outside of Windhelm. Apparently, it was the perfect place for mages; Ryndoril was very glad he’d had Lydia and Argis accompany him once more.

The three of them fought their way through several mages guarding the ruins, Ryndoril using more healing potions while Argis took a moment to rest – he’d been struck by a lightning spell.

“I highly suggest never drinking in public again without me,” Lydia told Ryndoril dryly.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think I will be,” Ryndoril said. 

“And I’ve got a few choice words for this Sam fellow, if we ever find him,” Argis added. Ryndoril could tell both his housecarls were incredibly annoyed about Sam Guevenne. He couldn’t blame them; he felt Sam was going to be lucky to avoid death at this point. He didn’t like anyone treating his life so casually, and having nearly been killed several times now on account of Sam’s antics…he certainly didn’t think kindly of the Breton.

Once Argis felt he could continue, they went inside, fighting their way past a few more mages. It was easier when they didn’t have to fight so many at once. All were relatively unharmed when they finally reached a room with a large, glowing orb.

“What in Oblivion?” Ryndoril muttered, staring at the thing.

“What is that?” Lydia asked, wide-eyed. Ryndoril started forward and she groaned. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”

“My Thane, be careful,” Argis urged. “It could be dangerous.”

“Most likely,” Ryndoril said dryly, walking carefully around it. “But there doesn’t seem to be anywhere else to go, so I’ve got to see what it – “ He was cut off as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him, being yanked through the air so suddenly it made him sick. He was utterly disoriented for a fleeting moment and then all at once landed on his feet in a very strange place – nothing like where he’d been just a moment ago.

He stood stock still for a moment, gathering himself as he looked around for potential threats. Nothing seemed to be after him, although it was a little hard to tell – the place was covered in mist.

He wondered where he could possibly be; it certainly had an ethereal feel to it, unlike anything he’d ever experienced in Tamriel. Another quick glance around told him was truly alone; whatever had happened, Lydia and Argis had not been transported with him.

Ryndoril was highly annoyed now; he was fed up with Sam and his ridiculous games, and he was going to find the stupid Breton, whatever it took. Standing around in the stupid green mist wasn’t going to get him anywhere, so he set off along a path lit by lanterns on either side, determined to figure out where he was and how to get back.

To his slight surprise, it wasn’t long before he came upon a group of people sitting around a table, right there in the middle of the misty evening.

“Sam!” Ryndoril cried, spotting the Breton. Sam Guevenne got to his feet and walked over to Ryndoril, grinning widely.

“So you got here at last,” Sam said, sounding endlessly amused. “I was starting to think you’d never make it.”

“What in Oblivion is the meaning of all this?” Ryndoril growled, further annoyed by Sam’s cheerfulness.

“Well, you’re right with Oblivion,” Sam laughed heartily, and then Ryndoril blinked; when he opened his eyes, Sam Guevenne was no longer standing in front of him. Instead, there was a very different man; one with a dark face and odd red markings all over him.

“What the - ?” Ryndoril said, bewildered. He didn’t even know what to finish the sentence with.

“The Daedric Lord of Debauchery, at your service,” the being spoke, laughter evident in his voice. “You can just call me your old Uncle Sanguine, if you like!”

“Sanguine?” Ryndoril demanded angrily. He’d heard of Sanguine before. “You? You tricked me?”

“I _encouraged_ you,” Sanguine corrected happily. “To go out in the world and spread merriment. And you did just that! I haven’t been so entertained in a hundred years!”

“Entertained?” Ryndoril spluttered. “You were entertained? I was nearly _killed_! Several times!”

“Ah,” Sanguine waved a hand dismissively. “You came out of it alright.”

“You married me off to a _hagraven_!” Ryndoril bellowed angrily. He really didn’t like the daedra to begin with, though at least his dealings with Nocturnal had been easy enough. This, though…messing with his life…making him think he’d betrayed Ondolemar…nearly getting him killed…all for Sanguine’s amusement! Little in the world drove him to such anger as this, but he was there now.

“Yeah,” Sanguine chuckled nostalgically. “That was one of my more brilliant ones, I have to admit. Ceremony was here, you know,” he added, nodding. “Misty Grove.”

“I went through all of this for your amusement?” Ryndoril demanded. “You put me through this – you nearly ruined my…a…relationship…” he trailed off, flustered, unsure how to refer to himself and Ondolemar in any case.

“He’ll forgive you,” Sanguine smirked. “Don’t worry about that. And besides…it might have begun as a mere amusement, but it wasn’t long before I realized you’d make a more interesting bearer of my not-quite-holy staff.”

“What?” Ryndoril asked, thrown off by this. “It was _your_ staff? That’s what I did this for? Why…why me?”

“Ah, it didn’t take much with you,” Sanguine grinned. “It’s obvious you’re one to enjoy a bit of merriment and debauchery. Look at all the fun you had!” Ryndoril didn’t think he would call stealing an innocent man’s goat, all but stealing an innocent woman’s ring, and then nearly being killed by a giant, a hagraven, and a bunch of mages ‘fun’.

“I’m not interested in you or your staff,” Ryndoril said firmly. He didn’t want anything to do with any of the daedra, and Sanguine had certainly confirmed that opinion.

“Nah,” Sanguine said. “You’ve earned it.” Out of the air beside him, he produced a staff with a large rose carved into the top of it, handing it to Ryndoril. The Bosmer reluctantly took it. “Go out and spread the joy of old Uncle Sanguine, eh?”

“Right,” Ryndoril muttered, staring broodingly at the staff. “What does it do?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Sanguine laughed. “Now, I think it’s time to send you back…no fun keeping you locked up here with it!” Before Ryndoril could manage to utter another word, the same disorienting whirlwind swept him away.

He landed, once more on his feet, right outside the Bannered Mare a moment later. Clearly, Sanguine had seen fit to send his companions, too; Lydia and Argis stood next to him, looking bewildered and worried.

“My Thane!” Lydia gasped, spotting Ryndoril. “What – “

“I’m fine,” Ryndoril said wearily, shaking his head. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“What happened?” Argis demanded. “How did we – what?”

“I found out who my friend ‘ _Sam’_ really was,” Ryndoril bit out. “Sanguine.”

“The Daedric prince?” Lydia asked, shocked.

“The very same,” Ryndoril said. “Come on. Let’s get back to the house…I’ll tell you all about it.”

They settled in again at Breezehome, Argis taking his turn to make them something to eat while Ryndoril explained everything to them.

“So now I’ve got his stupid staff,” Ryndoril said, nodding toward the thing. “Ridiculous.”

“I’ve never seen you angry like this,” Lydia finally commented. Ryndoril gave her a small smile.

“I don’t like people messing with my life like this,” Ryndoril reminded her. “Or making me look like a jerk to other people.” _Like Ondolemar_ , he thought longingly. He wondered if there was any chance the Altmer was going to believe _any_ of his story.

They finished eating and Ryndoril headed up to bed, once again worn out by his excursion; he’d been hit by the lightning spell as well, and on top of everything else the last few days – no doubt including the trip to Oblivion – he was ready to sleep. Argis promised to accompany him back to Markarth the next day.

Wanting more than anything to simply be with Ondolemar for a little while, Ryndoril fell into a troubled sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well done,” Ondolemar said mechanically, addressing the two Justiciars who had just reported to him. The pair had rooted out a secret group of Talos worshippers in Haafingar, following them and getting all the information Ondolemar needed. The blasphemous Nords were in the temporary custody of Solitude’s prisons, and as soon as Ondolemar filled out the proper reports, would be appropriately dealt with. “Your gathered information will be quite useful.”

“Of course, Commander,” one of the Justiciars, a female named Anorelle, said. “Elidor and I are going to stay at the inn for the night,” she added, indicating her male companion. “Would you care to join us for a drink?” Her flirtatious tone was immediately obvious to him and by Cyndil’s hasty cough behind him, it was to the others as well.

“No,” Ondolemar said haughtily. “I am your Commander, Justiciar Anorelle, not your friend. I presume not to see you again unless you bear further information for me.”

“Yes, Commander,” Anorelle said, sounding quite disappointed. Elidor smirked as he walked off after her, leaving Ondolemar with his two guards and a sheaf of notes.

“She isn’t half bad,” Cyndil pointed out fairly after they were alone. Ondolemar glared at him, but the elf only smirked. “She’s highly-bred, Commander, you can’t deny that. It isn’t as though you’ve got so much to choose from in this ridiculous province.”

“I don’t believe anything that I _choose_ is any of your business, Cyndil,” Ondolemar snapped.

“My Lord, we don’t mean to pry,” Rolain said, courteous enough but a slight mocking edge to his voice. “We simply can see that you’ve found no companionship in the years we’ve been here.”

“Worry about your own companionship,” Ondolemar growled, furious that his guards dared speak to him in such a way. “What I do is my own business, and I will not have my inferiors speaking to me like that. Or like _this_ ,” he added threateningly.

“Oh, but a smart-mouthed Bosmer he has no problem with,” Cyndil snickered. Rage flared in Ondolemar’s eyes.

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” the Commander said through gritted teeth, glaring at the two guards. “He has nothing to do with you.”

“Apologies, my lord,” Cyndil said, all trace of humor vanishing from his face at the deadly look on his Commander’s face.

“Indeed,” Ondolemar spat. “Take these to my desk, and I suggest thinking twice about your words in the future, Justiciar.” He shoved the papers at his guard.

“Defensive old elf,” Cyndil muttered, turning to walk away with Rolain.

“I heard that,” Ondolemar said. “I will report you to my own superiors if you keep it up.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Cyndil said, exasperated now, but Ondolemar didn’t feel like fighting the mer any further about his tone.

“My lord, where are you going?” Rolain asked, seeing the Thalmor agent walking away.

“Again, it is none of your business,” Ondolemar snapped. “I shall return later. That is all you need know.”

“Are you going to see that Bosmer again?” Rolain asked, shaking his head. He and Cyndil couldn’t understand the friendship that had sprung up between the two. 

“’That Bosmer’ is not in town, nor is he any of your business,” Ondolemar snarled, turning to face his guards once more. “I shall go where I please. Good evening.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his guards behind.

His guards always annoyed him; most people he was around always annoyed him, truth be told. But speaking so callously, so disdainfully, of Ryndoril…he was tempted to hit them with sparks, just for the satisfaction it would give him! They ought to consider themselves lucky, he thought, that he was far too well-trained to let such a reaction actually happen.

Once outside the Keep, Ondolemar breathed in the cool night air, the scent complemented by the pouring waterfall right in front of the doors. The sound eased some of the tension from him, and he strode off toward nowhere in particular. He had been leaving the Keep to do this more and more lately; simply walk around the city and clear his head. After dark, the only people to worry about were an odd guard or two, but they knew better than to bother him.

More often than he’d want to admit, he ended up in front of Vlindrel Hall on these walks. He had a clear view of the city gate from the small porch in front of the house; he tried to convince himself he wasn’t watching for the Bosmer to come back, but it was utterly untrue. He never saw the Bosmer, though, or even the Nord housecarl coming or going to the house.

It had been a few days since he’d seen the Bosmer now. Every so often, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if perhaps Ryndoril had indeed gotten married and decided to stay with this Sam? Part of him thought it was quite silly, but another part of him reasoned that he hadn’t actually known the Bosmer all that long yet. Perhaps it was simply part of his friendly nature, the way he acted around Ondolemar.

The Altmer inevitably felt sick whenever this thought occurred to him; he didn’t exactly have anyone he would call a friend, or even anyone he thought of as close to him. Ryndoril was the first…the only one he’d come to somehow trust. It felt as though he’d been stabbed in the chest to think he was nothing more than yet another ‘friend’ the Bosmer was interested in for a time. 

Then again… ‘there isn’t anyone else’, the Bosmer had assured him. He was relatively sure the Bosmer wouldn’t lie to him. He…he couldn’t have _imagined_ the connection between them, of course he couldn’t! The Bosmer was always happy to see him. Then again, the Bosmer was always happy, period.

Ondolemar shook his head at himself, annoyed once more. The ridiculous things that damn elf made him feel! Never had he been so insecure, pondering over his emotions or what someone else _thought_ about him. It was unthinkable, the state Ondolemar allowed himself to be worked into by the simple thought of the other mer!

He sighed as he looked around, realizing his feet had once more carried him to the Bosmer’s front door. At least, being the Thane’s house, no one else came up this way. Ondolemar could be alone there in front of the house as long as he liked with no one to interrupt him.

He leaned against the stone wall, glancing instinctively at the gate, but it didn’t move. No one would be coming or going this late at night. He turned his gaze then to the stars, finding himself relaxing a little then. It was peaceful here, standing alone on the porch and staring up into the sky. The twin moons were new, not giving off much extra light, though the stars shone brightly with the lack of clouds. It was a chilly evening, he knew, though his robes kept him quite warm; it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

For the millionth time since the Bosmer had left, he found himself wondering where Ryndoril might be. What had he found in Rorikstead? Had he needed to travel further?

Was he even _alright_?

Perhaps the Bosmer was traveling at the moment. Was Ryndoril looking up at the same stars he was? 

Ondolemar made a face as soon as he realized what he’d just thought. The damn mer was turning him into a sappy fool.

“Ondolemar?” 

The Altmer jumped, his hand conjuring up a ball of flame before he even thought about what he was doing – a reflex from long years of training. He turned to see Ryndoril standing on the top step, looking beaten and exhausted.

“Ryndoril!” Ondolemar said, the flame disappearing at once. He warred with himself for a moment; part of him wanted to pull the Bosmer into his arms, and part of him was still insecure about the whole ‘wedding’ thing. “You – you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, a slightly uncertain smile coming over his face. “What are you doing here?”

Ondolemar was at a loss for words; he honestly had no idea how to answer. He certainly didn’t feel like confessing the truth to the wood elf at the moment.

“Are you alright?” he settled on asking. There were harsh wounds across the Bosmer’s face; clearly they’d been healed a little, but not thoroughly. He was sporting a black eye as well, and had rather nasty burn marks on his arms.

“Better now,” Ryndoril said, his grin widening to its usual capacity. Despite his obvious tiredness, the Bosmer’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at Ondolemar. “My housecarl came with me. He’ll be here in a moment.” Ondolemar frowned.

“Argis? The one who’s never around?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said with a slight chuckle. “He’s been staying with Lydia at my house in Whiterun, it would seem.” Ondolemar’s frown deepened.

“When he’s meant to be looking after this house?” he asked. “A Thalmor guard would be immediately fired for such a thing.”

“Well, he’s my housecarl, not a Thalmor guard,” Ryndoril said, his voice slightly teasing. “Anyway. You…want to come in?”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Ondolemar asked, not wanting the question to come out though it did anyway. Ryndoril’s grin faded, sadness creeping into his eyes.

“I…I understand if you don’t want to,” he said hollowly. He’d been afraid of this; overjoyed as he’d been to see Ondolemar standing in front of his door when he arrived, he had still been afraid the mer wasn’t going to be okay with them anymore. The surge of happiness he’d felt upon seeing the handsome Altmer face again had vanished.

“I didn’t mean that,” Ondolemar said quickly. The defeat on the Bosmer’s face made his heart hurt, and he couldn’t help rushing to reassure Ryndoril. “I simply –“

“I got some roast beef and potatoes from the – oh,” Argis said, coming up the stairs and finally seeing Ondolemar. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ryndoril said, turning to his housecarl. “You can put everything inside, Argis. We – I’ll be in in a minute.” Argis didn’t question his Thane’s quick word correction, simply walking past the two and shutting the door behind him quietly. Ryndoril and Ondolemar stared at one another uncertainly for a moment.

“Ondolemar – “

“Ryndoril – “ 

Ryndoril let out a small laugh as they broke the tension, both starting at the same time, and even Ondolemar managed a small smile.

“Go ahead,” Ryndoril said, nodding to the Altmer. Ondolemar cleared his throat.

“If you wish for me to come inside with you, then I shall,” Ondolemar said, trying to keep his voice calm and even-toned despite the anxiety he felt inside. “I don’t wish to force my company upon you, simply because I happened to be here when you arrived.”

“You couldn’t force your company on me,” Ryndoril said, quite seriously. “I’d love it if you came in.”

Ondolemar felt a bit of his anxiety lessen as he followed the Bosmer through the door. He seemed happy enough to see Ondolemar again, at least – though the Altmer _was_ rather worried about the injuries the Bosmer seemed to have sustained. Ryndoril nearly ran into the Nord housecarl as they met in the entryway.

“Argis?” Ryndoril asked, startled.

“I put everything away,” Argis said. “I only grabbed a change of clothes. I…thought I’d give you some privacy.” Ryndoril grinned at him.

“Thanks, Argis. I appreciate it. Here,” Ryndoril added quickly, pulling out a small sack of septims. “Get yourself a drink, too.”

“Thank you, my Thane,” Argis smiled. He gave the Thalmor a wary look and nodded at him before heading out the door.

“Well, that’ll be nicer,” Ryndoril said with a small sigh, setting down his largest pack. “You hungry? I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch.”

“No,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “I’m fine.” He was feeling a lot of things, but hunger wasn’t one of them.

“Alright,” Ryndoril said, smiling at the elf as he walked toward his kitchen. “You want a drink, then?” 

“Yes, thank you,” Ondolemar said politely. 

“I hope you don’t mind having it in the bedroom,” Ryndoril said, holding out a bottle of wine to the Altmer. “I’m exhausted.”

“You look it,” Ondolemar observed, watching the Bosmer carefully as he took a bottle of wine for himself and grabbed a chunk of roast and a small sack of what seemed to be cooked potatoes. Was Ryndoril limping, or was it in his imagination? “What happened?”

“More than you would possibly imagine,” Ryndoril said with a short laugh, motioning the other elf to follow him and heading into the bedroom. He set the food down on the night table, glanced longingly at the bed, and went to the dresser, pulling out a clean pair of trousers. It was his last; he’d have to do some washing tomorrow.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Ondolemar asked, confused.

“In a minute,” Ryndoril smiled tiredly. “And I promise I’ll tell you everything. But I’m filthy, and I’d like to clean up a bit. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” Ondolemar said, frowning as he watched the Bosmer go. Yes, he was definitely limping.

Ondolemar spent the next few minutes thinking while he waited for Ryndoril. The Bosmer had returned – that in itself was a good sign, wasn’t it? And he’d very clearly desired Ondolemar’s company. Perhaps things were alright, after all?

Except for the Bosmer’s physical condition, obviously. Clearly he’d been through the mill, wherever he’d gone. Ondolemar wondered if the Bosmer would let him heal him.

He supposed that depended on the events of the night Ryndoril had gotten so drunk.

The Bosmer returned a moment later, wearing only his clean trousers, and Ondolemar gasped; there was a horrific bruise covering a quarter of the elf’s torso.

“Ryn…what…?” Ondolemar asked, shocked. Ryndoril looked down, not having thought twice about the injury aside from the pain it caused.

“Oh, it looks a lot worse,” he mused. “Don’t worry. I’m alright.”

“You’re limping,” Ondolemar argued. “You’re clearly injured.” And he could see why; that bruise was big enough to hurt with any kind of movement. Looking again, he saw three large, ugly scratches across the Bosmer’s chest as well.

“Well, yeah,” Ryndoril agreed. “Bit more adventurous than I expected the trip to be, honestly.”

“This is the fault of that Sam?” Ondolemar asked angrily.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, rolling his eyes. He eased himself down onto the bed. It was good to feel clean again, but Divines, was he still sore. “But it’s all taken care of now.” Ondolemar growled low in his throat; he wanted to rip this Sam limb from limb. “Don’t go getting any ideas,” Ryndoril said with a grin that told Ondolemar the Bosmer knew exactly what he was thinking. “Even you can’t go messing with a Daedric prince.”

“A – a what?” Ondoelmar asked, genuinely shocked. “You – met a Daedric prince?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said grimly, starting to wolf down his dinner. “Sanguine.”

“Sanguine,” Ondolemar frowned. He couldn’t remember that one. “Which one is that?”

“The Daedric Lord of Debauchery, apparently,” Ryndoril said, swallowing a bite of food. “Don’t worry. It’s a thrilling story, I’m getting there,” he finished teasingly.

“I presume it was not Sam to whom you were married, then?” Ondolemar asked, frowning.

“Uh…no,” Ryndoril said, reddening a little. Even though he hadn’t had any idea what he was doing, he was still a little embarrassed at having married a hagraven of all things. “And you can rest assured that I am most definitely not, at this point, married to anyone at all.”

“At this point?” Ondolemar asked, eyeing Ryndoril as the Bosmer stopped for a drink of wine.

“Let me start at the beginning,” Ryndoril chuckled, taking another large bite. “Sorry. Really hungry.”

“Clearly,” Ondolemar said, sneering a little at the indecent enthusiasm with which the wood elf was consuming his dinner. The sneer was mostly habit…in a strange way, he found it a bit…endearing, actually. Which was, of course, ridiculous.

“Alright,” Ryndoril said, swallowing his last bit of roast and reaching for a swig of wine. “Well. I headed off to Rorikstead, as you already know. When I got there, I ended up finding out I’d stolen this man’s goat and sold it to a giant.” Ondolemar raised an eyebrow at that.

“Excuse me?” he asked. Ryndoril laughed.

“It gets weirder, don’t worry. Well, the way he was going on about this damn goat, I thought it was his daughter, but it turned out to be livestock. So I went to get the goat back, and then I got attacked by the giant,” Ryndoril frowned. “That’s how I got this,” he added, indicating the bruise on his torso, “and the black eye.”

“You survived a fight with a giant?” Ondolemar asked, astonished.

“Barely,” Ryndoril smirked. “But the kid I was traveling with got me back to Rorikstead okay.”

“You had a companion?” Ondolemar pressed. Ryndoril grinned; it was highly entertaining to tell stories to this curious Altmer.

“Yeah, a young Nord man,” Ryndoril said ruefully. “He wants to be a bit of an adventurer, so I took him with me. Well, he sort of started the fight with the giant.”

“And yet you were the one who nearly died,” Ondolemar said indignantly. Now he wanted to throttle this man as badly as Sam, or Sanguine, or whatever he was called.

“Yeah, but he did get me back to safety,” Ryndoril reminded him. “I took a few healing potions when I woke up, but, you know, they can only do so much.”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar said, still frowning. He contemplated offering to heal the elf, but decided he might as well wait until the story was finished.

“Well, after I recovered from that, I found out I’d sold the goat so I could pay back this woman in Whiterun,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “Gods only knew for what. So I headed to Whiterun, where I thankfully found Lydia – and Argis,” he added with a smirk.

“And as your housecarl, Argis should have been with you in the first place – no need for this Nord child,” Ondolemar argued.

“Well, it happened how it happened,” Ryndoril shrugged. “But at least Lydia and Argis were there – I knew they were a good deal more competent than Erik. So anyway, I got to Whiterun, and I found out I’d needed the money to pay this woman – Ysolda – for a wedding ring. Apparently, Sam and I had told her all about this person – this woman – I’d met and Sam embellished the romance, making Ysolda give me the ring in promise for payment later.”

“You married a woman?” Ondolemar asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Uh…not exactly,” Ryndoril mumbled, taking a drink of wine. “I’m getting there. Anyway, once I found that out, Lydia and Argis came with me to this place Ysolda had told me I’d raved about. We were attacked by bears,” he added, pointing at the scratches on his chest. “But we ended up making it okay. When we got there, it was this…well, swamp, really,” he went on, shaking his head. “Smelly and disgusting. I have no idea how Sam made it sound romantic. But there was a house in the middle of it…and I was sure that’s where this mysterious woman must live.”

“In a swamp,” Ondolemar said, utterly unimpressed.

“So I went up and knocked on the door,” Ryndoril continued, not looking at Ondolemar any longer. “And when it opened…” he trailed off, finding it hard to go on.

“What?” Ondolemar demanded. “Who did you marry, Ryndoril?” All his anxiety had come back full force at this point. He really hated the thought of Ryndoril being married to anyone, and some strange woman that the Bosmer was clearly nervous to talk about…

“A hagraven,” Ryndoril muttered, his face and ears reddening thoroughly. There was silence for a full minute before Ryndoril could make himself look at Ondolemar. He almost laughed – the Altmer’s mouth was hanging open in a most un-Altmerish way.

“You…married…a…hagraven?” Ondolemar asked when he found his voice again. He had been worrying all this time, jealous all this time, over a gods-be-damned _hagraven_?

“She called me darling,” Ryndoril said, his ears burning. “And uh…mentioned…consummating our love.”

Ondolemar couldn’t help it; he started to laugh. It was not a reaction he usually had to anything, but after the anxiety of the last several days, finding out _this_ was what had happened – it was such a surprise, such a relief, so utterly _ridiculous_!

Ryndoril stared at the Altmer – he had never seen him laugh like this. Ryndoril found it slightly alarming, but the sound was so lovely to his ears…

“Auri-El,” Ondolemar chuckled, calming down though still grinning. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ heard of such a thing happening.” Ryndoril grinned back, letting out a small laugh in response.

“I’m pretty sure that could _only_ ever happen with Sanguine’s influence,” he agreed.

“You married a _hagraven_ ,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “A hagraven, Ryn!”

“Well, at least I hadn’t…uh…consummated our love yet,” Ryndoril said dryly, and Ondolemar let out another laugh. “She wasn’t too happy when I told her I hadn’t really come for that…I just wanted the ring.”

“How very tactful of you,” Ondolemar snorted. 

“Well, she apparently thought I meant I wanted the ring for some other ‘hussy’,” Ryndoril said, fairly amused himself now; somehow, it was much easier retelling it than it had been to live it all. “Someone with dark _feathers_.” Ondolemar let out another laugh at that, shaking his head and taking a drink of wine. “Well, despite my protests, she was angry…said if she couldn’t have me, no one could…and, well, those claws aren’t friendly,” he finished, indicating the scratches across his face. They were still sore, despite the healing potions.

“I expect not,” Ondolemar said, his tone much softer at that. He moved closer to Ryndoril and gently placed his gloved hand on the side of the Bosmer’s face. Ryndoril smiled at him. “Would you like me to heal it?”

“Could you?” Ryndoril asked hopefully. “You know healing magic?”

“Of course I know healing magic,” Ondolemar said disdainfully. “What sort of superiorly-bred Altmer do you think I am, to not know how to heal properly?” Ryndoril shook his head, grinning.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said. “But…yes. If you wouldn’t…mind.” Ondolemar focused his magic, placing his fingers over the scratches. As the golden glow of healing magic touched Ryndoril’s face, the Bosmer smiled softly and closed his eyes, leaning into the Altmer’s touch.

“Keep your eyes shut,” Ondolemar said softly, his heart beating with the thrill of touching the Bosmer again. “I’ll get your eye.”

“Alright,” Ryndoril murmured, hardly daring to breathe. By the Divines, he’d missed the Altmer so much…lying in his bed the other night, wondering if Ondolemar could perform healing spells…and now being on the receiving end of them. He was so utterly content.

Ondolemar focused his magic more deeply on the bruise around the Bosmer’s eye, working to heal it. He was so close to the other mer…right in front of him…before he could temper the impulse, he leaned forward just enough to press his lips to Ryndoril’s.

“Mmmm,” the Bosmer sighed at the touch of Ondolemar’s lips. He was grinning like a fool when the Altmer pulled away a moment later, Ondolemar staring at him with a small smile on his own face. “Make me look that attractive, did you?” The spell broken, Ondolemar snorted with laughter again, running his leather-covered fingers gently over the place the wounds had been.

“You look fine,” he said. “I can’t even see a scar. They must not have been that deep.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said sincerely, taking the Altmer’s hand and pressing his lips to the long fingers.

“You’re welcome,” Ondolemar said, a shiver running through him at the Bosmer’s actions. He wished he hadn’t been wearing his gloves. “Would you like me to heal the rest?” Ryndoril smiled at him, releasing his hand.

“If you’d be so kind,” Ryndoril said, nodding. “I’d appreciate it.” Ondolemar pulled off his gloves then; he could perform the magic perfectly well with them on, but the opportunity to touch the Bosmer’s bare skin was too tempting. Ryndoril settled back against the wall, shuddering slightly when Ondolemar’s bare fingers touched him.

“So what happened then? Was that all?” Ondolemar asked, trying to focus on healing the Bosmer instead of the other things he very much wanted to do. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that, with all his worry about who Ryndoril had married. For now, though, he had to concentrate.

“I wish,” Ryndoril sighed, closing his eyes and reveling in the Altmer’s touch. He was beyond thrilled that Ondolemar had offered to heal him so thoroughly. “We fought the Hagraven while she tried to set us on fire. Thank the gods for Lydia and Argis,” he added. “I’m sure this would’ve been a lot worse without their help.” Ondolemar looked appraisingly at the Bosmer’s burned arms; he would attend to those in a moment.

“You killed her, I presume?” Ondolemar asked.

“Lydia did,” Ryndoril nodded. “And then we went back to Whiterun. Ysolda was a bit friendlier after I gave her the ring back, and told me the ceremony was supposed to have been at Morvunskar, this old – “

“Morvunskar?” Ondolemar asked, forgetting about the healing magic for a moment as his head snapped up to look Ryndoril in the face.

“You know the place?” Ryndoril asked curiously.

“Of course I do,” Ondolemar said. “A dangerous ruin, inhabited by a fair number of necromancers.”

“That’s the one,” Ryndoril said grimly. “And again I was just lucky to have Argis and Lydia with me. Those lightning spells hurt,” he added with a frown.

“Indeed,” Ondolemar said softly, frowning as well and turning back to his task. He didn’t like to think of the Bosmer being hit with them. “Why did you go there?”

“Well, I hadn’t found Sam yet,” Ryndoril said. “And at this point, I was ready to kill him.”

“I can hardly blame you,” Ondolemar commented, stopping himself from adding that he wanted to as well. “You made it through that fort of mages?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril shrugged. “I’ve fought mages before.” He grinned when Ondolemar looked at him in surprise. “Not all of them are as talented as you.” Ondolemar reddened slightly, but smiled. “Anyway, we got through them, and then came to this room that didn’t seem to have any other exit, but there was a big ball of…energy, or something, in the middle of it. I tried to check it out, and the next thing I knew, I was being taken somewhere.”

“Auri-El,” Ondolemar murmured in amazement. That sounded incredibly dangerous.

“Sanguine, actually,” Ryndoril said dryly, wincing as Ondolemar moved his hands over a particularly sensitive spot.

“Sorry,” Ondolemar said quickly, not having meant to hurt the mer.

“It’s alright,” Ryndoril said. “So a second later, I land on my feet in this mist-covered wetland. I’m by myself – Lydia and Argis didn’t get taken with me – and now I’m really ticked off. There only seems to be one way to go, so I follow this path, and eventually come to this table where Sam is sitting with a bunch of odd people. Just in the middle of this wetland.”

“How odd,” Ondolemar commented.

“No kidding,” Ryndoril agreed. “Anyway, Sam comes over to me, I’m yelling at him, and then he reveals himself to be Sanguine. Told me I had been an amusement for him, and _he’d_ had a lot of fun.”

“With you nearly being killed?” Ondolemar demanded indignantly.

“That’s what I said,” Ryndoril said, rolling his eyes. “He didn’t seem to see the problem – I was still alive, after all.”

“Thank the Divines,” Ondolemar muttered.

“Well, he apparently had enough fun with me that he decided I should be the bearer of his staff,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “So now I’ve got this damn enchanted staff. I don’t even know what it does.”

“You’ve not tried it?” Ondolemar asked, his scholar side quite interested.

“The staff of a Daedric prince who thought it was great fun to marry me off to a hagraven and let me nearly get killed several times over? No, I haven’t,” Ryndoril said. “Are you mad?”

“Fair point,” Ondolemar conceded. “Give me your arm,” he added, reaching for the Bosmer’s other arm; he’d already healed the first. Ryndoril lifted his arm toward the Altmer, letting him finish his healing.

“You’re welcome to look at the thing, if you’re that interested in it,” Ryndoril said. “Argis should have left it in the room out there. He was carrying it.”

“You gave a Daedric staff to a _Nord_ to carry?” Ondolemar asked, sounding scandalized. “And you think _I’m_ mad.”

“Hey,” Ryndoril said indignantly. “I know you don’t care for the Nords in general, but two of them helped save my life. Argis was one of them.” Ondolemar wrinkled his nose; the Bosmer had a point, really, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Anyway, you can check it out all you want.”

“You don’t mind?” Ondolemar asked, feeling rather excited at the prospect. How often did one get the chance to examine a Daedric artifact?

“Of course not,” Ryndoril grinned. “Particularly since you seem so excited over it.”

“I appreciate it,” Ondolemar said, smiling pleasantly. “Thank you.”

“And I appreciate this,” Ryndoril said, indicating the injuries the Altmer had healed. “Thank you so much.” Ondolemar finished healing Ryndoril’s arm and then let his hands fall away, looking up at the Bosmer more seriously.

“So…you are not married?” Ondolemar asked.

“Definitely not,” Ryndoril chuckled.

“And there was no…Sam?”

Ryndoril heard the extra meaning behind the question. The Altmer was not merely asking about Sam Guevenne, or even Sanguine – he wanted to know if there was anyone else Ryndoril was interested in. He gave the Altmer a kind smile.

“There is no one else,” he said softly, reaching for Ondolemar’s hand. “I would never betray you like that, Ondolemar.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ondolemar looked at the Bosmer in front of him, reveling in the words. Ryndoril’s face was earnest, sincere. He knew the wood elf meant every word he was saying, and at that moment, whatever had happened the last few days didn’t matter in the slightest. The Bosmer was his, and he was sitting right there; that was what was important.

“I’m yours,” Ryndoril continued, keeping his eyes on Ondolemar’s. “All I have to give is yours.” Ondolemar hesitated for just a moment, but decided there was no reason not to say what he wanted to.

“And will you give me yourself?” Ondolemar asked, his voice a whisper. “Will you let me…have you?” Ryndoril smiled widely.

“I would love nothing more,” he said sincerely, surprised but very pleased.

Ondolemar leaned over then, putting his hands on the Bosmer’s shoulders and kissing him possessively. Ryndoril wrapped his arms around the Altmer’s neck, pulling him down on top of himself.

“Ow,” he said a moment later, pushing Ondolemar back and chuckling. The Thalmor armor was a bit rough on Ryndoril’s skin.

“That’ll teach you to be impatient,” Ondolemar snickered, undoing his robes and tossing them to the floor with his gloves. He felt nearly giddy at the prospect of being with the Bosmer again, all the tension between them gone. He was a bit anxious about doing everything properly, given that he’d never ended up going to the temple of Dibella, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity…and after all, Ryndoril had been nothing but understanding to that point.

Now bared from the waist up, he moved next to Ryndoril again, pulling them both down to a laying position and kissing him fiercely.

“Do you have more of that oil?” Ondolemar breathed, pulling away briefly though he left one hand tangled in Ryndoril’s hair. Ryndoril smiled.

“Of course I do,” he said, his fingers trailing gently over the Altmer’s fine face. “But you’ll have to let me up. It’s in my pack.” Ondolemar smirked.

“I’ll let you up, so long as these are removed before you join me again,” Ondolemar said teasingly, running a finger along the waist of Ryndoril’s trousers. The Bosmer grinned widely.

“As you command, my lord,” he teased the Altmer. Ondolemar’s sharp intake of breath betrayed how affected he was by the Bosmer’s deferential words.

This was going to work out just fine, he realized. He knew this – being in charge. He was _good_ at this. His previous sexual encounters had been awkward due to his lack of enjoyment of the female mer he was with, but everything about Ryndoril always managed to feel right.

And now, the Thalmor Commander was in his element – he didn’t need any rubbish advice from some priestess of Dibella. He had Ryndoril.

The Bosmer had retrieved his bottle of oil and tossed it onto the bed with a smirk before standing back to slowly, teasingly pull his trousers off. Ondolemar growled as he watched the elf’s lean, muscular form as Ryndoril revealed more of his skin, inch by tantalizing inch.

Ryndoril was enjoying the hungry look in the Altmer’s eyes as he teased him; it was quite fun to affect the powerful mer this way. He couldn’t deny he found Ondolemar’s bossiness immensely arousing, either. Finally, his already-hardening length sprung free of his trousers, pulling a low groan from the Altmer on the bed. Ryndoril simply grinned and kicked the trousers off, standing still as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed, staring at the elf in front of him. Quite a display he made. “Come here,” he added, pleading, breathless. He was going to want to remove his own trousers soon.

“You could try asking nicely,” Ryndoril teased, though he didn’t actually care. Ondolemar’s eyes narrowed as he fixed the Bosmer with a commanding, dominate gaze.

“Ryndoril,” Ondolemar said, his voice no longer breathy but commanding. The voice of a Thalmor Commander, for sure. “I said _come here_.”

Ryndoril couldn’t help but shudder at the tone, feeling himself harden further. Dear gods above, that was attractive. Before he had made the conscious decision to obey, his legs were carrying him back toward the bed until he fell to his knees on it in front of the now-sitting Altmer. Ondolemar smirked.

“That’s better.” Ondolemar reached a hand up to Ryndoril’s hair, brushing through it until he found the pointed ear.

“Ohh,” Ryndoril groaned, closing his eyes and leaning into the Altmer’s touch. Ondolemar was thoroughly enjoying himself; having such control over the Bosmer was rather intoxicating, and he did like having his orders obeyed.

The Altmer leaned in to kiss Ryndoril, continuing to caress the Bosmer’s pointed ear as he pushed his tongue between the wood elf’s lips. The way Ryndoril breathed so heavily into the kiss made Ondolemar want him even more. After a moment, Ondolemar found himself on top of the Bosmer, pinning him to the bed as he continued several fevered kisses.

“Hardly seems fair,” Ryndoril panted, pulling away long enough to breathe. Ondolemar arched an eyebrow at him. What could the mer possibly find unfair? “You’re wearing more than me,” the Bosmer finished with a cheeky grin. Ondolemar smirked.

“That will change when I choose it to, no sooner,” he informed the wood elf. Focused as he was on Ryndoril’s deep breaths and gorgeous face, he hadn’t noticed the Bosmer’s hand moving until it grasped his ear, stroking the tip of it lovingly. “Ohhhh,” he moaned quietly, his eyes closing at the pleasant sensation. “Ryn…”

“Just trying to make you choose it sooner,” Ryndoril whispered in amusement, enjoying the Altmer’s reaction.

“Damn you,” Ondolemar whispered before capturing Ryndoril’s lips once more, forcibly kissing the Bosmer while thrusting his hips against the other mer’s length. Even with his trousers on, he could feel Ryndoril’s arousal, and the sharp gasp the Bosmer gave told him Ryndoril enjoyed it quite as much. With a groan of longing he could no longer hold back, Ondolemar pushed himself to his knees, quickly ridding himself of the blasted leather covering his lower half while Ryndoril grinned up at him, obviously enjoying the sight.

With both elves now bared, each could feel the other pressing against them, both hard and both desperately wanting. Ondolemar rubbed his length against the Bosmer’s, back and forth, teasingly slowly before Ryndoril reached between them to grab them both in one hand.

“Aaahh…” Ondolemar whimpered at the Bosmer’s forceful touch. “Ryn!”

“Gods, love,” Ryndoril murmured, feeling rather emotional – it was silly, he knew, but he had missed Ondolemar very much, and was pleased beyond reason to be back at this again. He stroked them together, feeling the Altmer’s arousal against his own along with his hand rubbing them at the same time.

“Stop,” Ondolemar begged shakily, forcing himself away from Ryndoril’s grasp. Divines, he’d wanted the Bosmer so badly he was going to let himself spill before anything even truly happened!

“Alright,” Ryndoril acquiesced, his voice soft as he let his other hand slide down through the long golden hair. “Go on, then, love,” he urged. Ondolemar smiled, a bit tentative once more for never having done this before, but he wanted it so much he was sure he could handle it.

The Altmer pulled back, kissing Ryndoril’s scruffy chin once again before settling himself between the Bosmer’s parted legs. He let his long fingers drift over the Bosmer’s skin, reveling in the feeling of touching him again. He was less than pleased at how much Ryndoril had been hurt; he could feel a bit of the scarring under his fingers, and he didn’t like to think of the wood elf being harmed. He quickly pushed it out of his mind, however, as his fingers brushed the Bosmer’s length, causing a small whimper from Ryndoril’s lips.

Ondolemar smiled, sliding his hand down Ryndoril’s length and across his thigh, reaching for the bottle of oil with his other hand. When he managed to coat his fingers with a trembling hand, he set the oil aside and laid both hands on Ryndoril’s thighs, uncertainty overwhelming him again. Ryndoril, it seemed, understood him perfectly.

“Don’t worry, love,” Ryndoril murmured, staring straight at Ondolemar. “Take your time. Think about what you like. Relax.” Ondolemar let out a breath and gave the Bosmer a small smile. Ryndoril was right; he needed to relax. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew what he enjoyed, and this wasn’t exactly utterly foreign to him. Keeping the Bosmer’s reassurances in his mind, he let the oiled hand drift down while Ryndoril moved his legs farther apart, allowing access to the Altmer.

Ondolemar tentatively brushed a finger over the puckered hole now revealed to him, causing a sharp intake of breath from Ryndoril. He smiled, his next stroke firmer as he gained confidence.

“Yes,” Ryndoril hissed, his eyes closed as his hands fisted in the bed linens. “Gods, yes, Ondolemar…” On Ondolemar’s next pass he allowed his finger to press on the Bosmer’s opening firmly, finding it a bit more receptive to the probing touch than his own had been. Pressing the tip of one finger inside the Bosmer, he felt himself harden even further as he wrenched a groan from Ryndoril’s throat.

“Is this alright?” Ondolemar murmured, eyes fixed on the Bosmer’s face, twisted in pleasure.

“Yes, love…oh yes,” Ryndoril breathed, unable to stop himself from pushing down on Ondolemar’s finger the next moment. Ondolemar grinned.

“More?” he asked.

“Yes!” Ryndoril demanded. By the Divines, this felt amazing – it was always an intense feeling to allow someone else to penetrate him like this, even just with a finger, but with Ondolemar it was so much more.

Ondolemar obeyed Ryndoril’s demanded wish, pressing one finger all the way into the Bosmer. It was tight, but not uncomfortably so; clearly, Ryndoril’s body was more used to this sort of thing than his own. A horrible wave of jealousy stole over him as his mind wondered just why that might be – how many others had the wood elf been with, after all? How often? How recently? – but he forced it down. Now was certainly not the moment.

Shoving the thought from his mind, Ondolemar slid his finger back out of the Bosmer before letting a second join it, pressing into him a bit more roughly.

“Gods!” Ryndoril choked, a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper emanating from his throat.

“Too much?” Ondolemar frowned; he didn’t want to hurt the Bosmer, after all!

“No,” Ryndoril said, his voice almost a desperate sob. “No…gods. Please.” Feeling the Altmer’s long fingers inside of him was incredible – the length of them alone gave him such an unexpectedly different feeling than what he was used to. He felt the long, thin fingers moving around inside of him slightly, searching, until – “Ohh!” Ryndoril groaned deeply, feeling Ondolemar’s fingers pressing on that most sensitive spot inside of him.

“Found it, then,” Ondolemar breathed, fascinated by how the Bosmer felt around him, his reactions, the pleasure evident in his face. Ryndoril let out a breath of a laugh.

“Yes, yes you did,” Ryndoril managed as Ondolemar pulled his fingers out again. “Gods, love.” His cock was aching now, desperate for more stimulation, but he forced himself to hold back; he didn’t want to spoil things by achieving his release already. Just feeling Ondolemar’s long fingers sliding in and out of him, brushing over that spot inside of him, was nearly enough to cause problems on its own.

Ondolemar quickly came to the conclusion that the Bosmer was going to be quite receptive already; it wasn’t going to take very much preparation for him. He had to admit he was rather glad for this; he was impatient and very eager to take the wood elf, to claim him. _His_ Ryndoril.

Pulling his two fingers from the Bosmer one last time, Ondolemar flicked a finger over the puckered hole before reaching for the bottle of oil again, making Ryndoril jump.

“Turn over,” Ondolemar murmured, squeezing the Bosmer’s thigh. As much as he enjoyed seeing Ryndoril’s face, he very much wanted the dominating position behind him that night. He felt desperate to take Ryndoril as his own, and this was most certainly the way to properly go about it.

Ryndoril grinned at his lover, doing as he was told; this wasn’t exactly how he’d experienced this before, though he’d done it to others. It was a very submissive position he was put in, and he hadn’t ever felt right doing such a thing with anyone else. With the Altmer in his bed, though, it felt entirely right.

It was a little strange, Ryndoril thought, how very vulnerable he felt like this. He couldn’t see what Ondolemar was doing behind him, couldn’t anticipate the Altmer’s next move or even see his face to read it. He had no option but to simply trust in Ondolemar…and that he did. Even so, he felt himself trembling slightly in anticipation – that was even _more_ odd. He was feeling a bit like a virgin having his first time – which was far from the truth. Something about the way the Altmer made him feel, though – it was an entirely new experience, and one he planned to savor.

Ryndoril jumped slightly as Ondolemar finally placed a gentle hand on the Bosmer’s hip.

“Sorry,” Ondolemar murmured, rubbing the elf’s skin gently.

“It’s alright,” Ryndoril breathed. He felt the Altmer’s length pressing up against him, though Ondolemar hesitated. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder. The Altmer was clearly uncertain. “Take me,” Ryndoril said, his voice shaking – he’d never said that before, and most certainly never meant it like this. “I’m yours, love.” This seemed to do the trick, as Ondolemar let out a possessive growl before pushing himself forcibly inside the Bosmer.

 _I’m yours, love_. The words repeated in Ondolemar’s mind as he pressed himself into Ryndoril, sliding inside him with only a little resistance. He would hold onto those words for the rest of his life, he knew.

As easily as his fingers had slid inside the Bosmer, he was a little surprised at the tightness he could now feel around his length. Ryndoril’s long, low moan told him the Bosmer was feeling it every bit as sharply as Ondolemar himself was. He was halfway inside the Bosmer before he realized he was being rather harsh; Ryndoril had gone so slowly for him, and yet here he was, only thinking of how incredible the sensation was for himself!

“Are you alright?” Ondolemar asked, stilling for a moment though it nearly killed him to do so.

“Yes,” Ryndoril panted. Oh, by the Divines, he was better than alright – he’d never felt anything like this in his life. “Please…keep…ohhhh,” he finished with a moan as Ondolemar understood him, pressing further into the Bosmer. The Altmer’s length brushed up against the spot inside of him, causing him to twitch with the pleasure of it. A moment later, he could feel Ondolemar’s hips up against his buttocks; the mer was fully sheathed inside of him. “Ondolemar,” he whimpered, his head hanging limply as his arms struggled to keep supporting him.

“Mine, Ryn,” Ondolemar whispered harshly. “Mine.” And then to prove his point, he leaned over the smaller elf, wrapping his arms around Ryndoril’s chest and squeezing him tightly. 

“Yours,” Ryndoril agreed with a breath. “All yours.” Ondolemar nearly roared in triumph at the statement, so powerful it made him feel. Pulling himself back out of the Bosmer, he slid in again more forcefully, more quickly, more pleasurably.

It wasn’t long before the two elves had found their rhythm; Ondolemar thrusting in and out of the Bosmer in front of him, one hand on the wood elf’s hips while another reached up for the pointed elven ear. Ryndoril tried to match the Altmer’s pace, but found he was quite unable to control himself at all, and so simply let Ondolemar have his way with him.

The Bosmer was absolutely desperate to be touched now, and so he moved his hand in an attempt to stroke himself. Ondolemar saw, however, and grabbed Ryndoril’s wrist.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “Mine.” He let go of Ryndoril’s wrist, wrapping his own fingers around the Bosmer’s length. Ryndoril moaned incoherently, his head falling to the bed, unable to keep himself propped up anymore. Feeling the Altmer taking control of him in this way…dear gods, he had never known anything so wonderful. Every stroke matched a thrust, driving Ryndoril quickly into a frenzy.

“Love,” he panted, moaning and barely able to speak. “Love…I’m close…I can’t keep….”

“ _Good_ ,” Ondolemar growled, thrusting just a bit harder. “Come for me, Ryn.” He was relieved he wouldn’t need to hold on much longer, either.

“Ahh…oh gods,” Ryndoril groaned. “Yes…love…Ondolemar!”

“Yes,” Ondolemar snarled, feeling the Bosmer’s muscles tightening around him. He couldn’t control it anymore and simply thrust into the wood elf with wild abandon, the warm, sticky seed on his hand from Ryndoril simply adding to the sensation. “Yes! _Mine_ , Ryndoril!” With that, he emptied himself inside the Bosmer, filling him with every last drop; marking him.

The panting and slightly sweaty elves collapsed almost as one into a heap on the bed, Ondolemar just barely finding the energy to move aside before he fell so he didn’t crush the smaller elf. He slid unceremoniously out of Ryndoril but pulled the elf tightly into his arms.

“Yours,” Ryndoril finally murmured, a bit tiredly. He had never felt this way before; sure, he’d had a good time with others, and the other man he’d allowed inside of him had been very pleasant. But this…this was unlike anything he’d experienced. It was amazing.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed, his lips not far from Ryndoril’s ear.

“Mmm?” Ryndoril hummed back in reply, contented in the Altmer’s embrace.

“Was that...well…” he trailed off. Ryndoril let out a small laugh.

“It was perfect,” he said sincerely, pulling back just far enough to see Ondolemar’s face. “Perfect.” Then he found the energy to push himself up slightly to gently kiss the Altmer’s lips, brushing his own across them with barely more than a breath.

“Will you let me stay with you?” Ondolemar murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open already. Ryndoril laughed again, a little giddy.

“You never have to ask,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to the Altmer’s cheek. “Anytime you like.” Ondolemar’s lips quirked in a smile as he squeezed the Bosmer more tightly. Ryndoril rubbed his thumb over Ondolemar’s cheek softly for just a few moments before the Altmer was very clearly asleep.

By Dibella, this elf was beautiful, Ryndoril couldn’t help thinking. Everything about Ondolemar drew Ryndoril in; he couldn’t help it. And frankly, he didn’t want to. The Bosmer swallowed a lump in his throat as he stared at the Altmer, coming to a realization.

He was in love with this elf who was holding him so tightly. Desperately, head-over-heels in love with him. And he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Burying his face in the Altmer’s bare chest, grateful for the warmth the larger body provided, Ryndoril was quite glad Ondolemar wasn’t awake to see the few small tears fall from his eyes. His feelings had overwhelmed him, and it was a feeling far different than any he’d ever had before. But all that mattered, at that moment, was that they were together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we have it - Ryn's adventures with Sanguine :) I hope you liked it, and Ondolemar's topping finally!
> 
> I love your kudos and your comments, they make me so very happy :D


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